Celeste stepped into the chamber, the hem of her lunar-white robes trailing like smoke. Her silver hair was braided tight against her head, her eyes sharp, knowing. "You asked for . It must be important."
Camille turned slowly. Her voice cracked. "I have to tell you sothing. Sothing I should’ve said months ago."
Celeste didn’t blink. "Then speak. We don’t have ti for careful."
Camille swallowed hard. "I’m not just a healer. I’m not just... anything I claid to be."
"You’re trembling," Celeste said, stepping forward. "Sit."
"No." Camille shook her head. Her hands were clenched at her sides. "No, I have to say it standing. Because if I sit, I might not get up again."
Celeste waited. Patient. Unflinching.
Camille dragged in a breath. "I was chosen. Marked. Before I ever knew what it ant. I thought it was just dreams, visions, strange monts of forgetting ti. But it’s more than that. There’s sothing inside . And it’s not mine."
The air thinned. Celeste’s face changed just slightly, her left brow ticking upward.
"What is it?"
Camille’s voice dropped to a whisper. "A Luna spirit. An ancient one. The prophecy isn’t about who leads Hollowfang. It’s about who carries it. Who becos the vessel."
Celeste exhaled sharply. "That prophecy hasn’t been spoken aloud in two centuries."
"But it’s still alive. Inside ."
Celeste crossed her arms. "Why tell now? After all this ti?"
"Because it’s growing stronger. I’ve been hearing things. Seeing faces that aren’t there. Speaking in tongues I don’t understand. Last night... I bled silver."
Celeste moved so fast, Camille flinched. The priestess grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand up to the moonlight.
"Your veins... gods."
Faint silvery glimrs spidered beneath Camille’s skin. Celeste touched them reverently.
"You are changing."
Camille pulled away. "No, I’m being hollowed out. Like sothing is preparing my body for rebirth. Like my womb..."
"Is the altar," Celeste finished quietly.
Camille nodded. Her lips trembled. "That’s why I never bonded. Why no wolf ever called to mine. Because it isn’t just mine anymore. There’s another heartbeat."
"You should’ve co to sooner."
"I was scared. And Sterling... he knew. I think he’s counting on it."
Celeste’s mouth hardened. "You think Sterling plans to awaken the prophecy through you?"
"Yes. And to do it, he wants to remove Rhett."
"How do you know that?"
Camille stepped closer, urgency in her eyes. "Because I overheard him. He said, ’We remove the boy. The girl will obey.’ He thinks if Rhett dies, I’ll be too broken to fight it."
Celeste let out a quiet, furious breath. "The council must know."
"They won’t believe . Not unless..."
Celeste narrowed her eyes. "Unless we prove it."
Camille nodded slowly.
There was a long silence.
"And the child?" Celeste asked.
Camille looked away. Her voice barely carried. "I think the vessel... is ant to carry one. A Luna-born. Not just of this world. The heartbeat isn’t taphorical. I feel it. At night. When I’m alone. And I dream of fire."
Celeste walked a slow circle around her. "You’ve beco the center of this war. Not by ambition. By design."
Camille blinked back tears. "Do I even get to choose anymore?"
Celeste stopped in front of her. "You do. But the cost will be everything."
Camille gave a shaky laugh. "Everything is already broken."
A knock rattled the chamber door.
Both won turned.
A guard entered, bowing. "High Alpha Sterling requests Priestess Celeste’s presence in the southern ward."
Celeste waved him off. "Tell him I’m performing a rite. I’ll arrive when I must."
When the door shut, she turned back to Camille.
"We must act carefully. Say nothing to anyone. Not yet. I’ll prepare the wards tonight. You stay in the inner sanctum."
Camille hesitated. "And Rhett?"
Celeste nodded. "I’ll send for him. Quietly. But you must rest. You look like you haven’t slept in days."
Camille exhaled. "Because I haven’t. When I close my eyes... she whispers. The Luna spirit. And her voice is always the sa: ’You are the second heartbeat.’"
Celeste tilted her head. "Then we listen. And we make sure she doesn’t beat for Sterling."
Camille backed away toward the sanctuary’s far wall, where the soft shimr of protection sigils glowed faintly. Her body trembled with the exhaustion of fear and truth, yet sothing flickered in her gaze now, a stubborn thread of fight.
She whispered, to herself or the thing within, she wasn’t sure.
"If I was chosen, then I’ll choose too."
And the light in the sigils pulsed once.
Then again.
Alive.
Ready.
Awaiting a war only one vessel could unleash.
Magnolia winced as the linen soaked in crimson was pulled gently from her shoulder. Her breath caught, but she didn’t flinch again. She wouldn’t, not in front of him. Rhett’s fingers were steady, patient, far too careful for a man raised in war. The firelight danced against the scarred stone walls of the healer’s chamber, casting shadows that made their silence even heavier.
"You should’ve waited for backup," Rhett said finally, his voice low but thick with restrained emotion.
Magnolia exhaled, nostrils flaring slightly. "And what? Let the scout get torn to pieces while I strategize from a distance?"
"It wasn’t your job to charge in."
"And yet here I am, breathing."
He glanced up, jaw tense. She t his stare with defiance. Her dark curls were damp with sweat and ash, her bronze skin marred by soot and dried blood, but her eyes, those fierce, calculating eyes, burned with stubborn fire.
"Barely breathing," Rhett murmured, returning to the wound. "You tore muscle. Deep. You’ll need to rest."
She scoffed. "I don’t rest."
"You will now. That’s an order."
Magnolia smiled without humor. "Don’t test your luck, Alpha."
His hands stilled. For a heartbeat, only the crackling fire spoke between them. Then his thumb brushed the edge of her wound with such gentle reverence it made her chest tighten.
"I hate seeing you like this," Rhett said, barely audible. "Bleeding. Wounded. Mortal."
She looked at him then, not as the Alpha of Hollowfang or the heir to a bloodstained throne, but as the boy she once sparred with in moonlit courtyards, who used to tie feathers in her hair and dare her to leap from treetops.
"You forget," she said softly, "I bleed so others don’t have to."
Rhett’s throat bobbed. He dipped the cloth into the herbal basin again, then pressed it carefully to her skin. She hissed, and his gaze flicked to hers.
"Let in, Magnolia. Just for a mont."
"You’re already in," she whispered, the confession slipping out before she could silence it.
His wolf stirred behind his eyes. She felt it, like the brush of fur against her own spirit, a whisper of wildness that tangled with hers. Her breath hitched.
He leaned closer, the scent of pine and storm thick on him. "Magnolia... what are we becoming?"
She didn’t answer. Instead, she reached up, fingers brushing his jaw, tracing the scar beneath his ear he never spoke of. Their bond wasn’t forged in tenderness. It was born in battle, hardened through fire. But now, in this fragile stillness, it pulsed.
"Whatever we are," she murmured, "it’s dangerous."
Rhett tilted his head into her touch. "Then we face it. Together."
Her lips parted, words trembling at the edge, but a howl from outside shattered the mont. They both jerked upright.
Rhett was on his feet in a blink, eyes glowing. Magnolia swung her legs off the healer’s table.
"Stay," he commanded.
"Don’t."
They locked eyes.
Then both ran, toward the rising threat that didn’t wait for wounds to heal or feelings to settle.
And the fire sputtered behind them, left to rember what might’ve been.
Beneath Rhett’s Touch
Magnolia winced as the linen soaked in crimson was pulled gently from her shoulder. Her breath caught, but she didn’t flinch again. She wouldn’t, not in front of him. Rhett’s fingers were steady, patient, far too careful for a man raised in war. The firelight danced against the scarred stone walls of the healer’s chamber, casting shadows that made their silence even heavier.
"You should’ve waited for backup," Rhett said finally, his voice low but thick with restrained emotion.
Magnolia exhaled, nostrils flaring slightly. "And what? Let the scout get torn to pieces while I strategize from a distance?"
"It wasn’t your job to charge in."
"And yet here I am, breathing."
He glanced up, jaw tense. She t his stare with defiance. Her dark curls were damp with sweat and ash, her bronze skin marred by soot and dried blood, but her eyes, those fierce, calculating eyes, burned with stubborn fire.
"Barely breathing," Rhett murmured, returning to the wound. "You tore muscle. Deep. You’ll need to rest."
She scoffed. "I don’t rest."
"You will now. That’s an order."
Magnolia smiled without humor. "Don’t test your luck, Alpha."
His hands stilled. For a heartbeat, only the crackling fire spoke between them. Then his thumb brushed the edge of her wound with such gentle reverence it made her chest tighten.
"I hate seeing you like this," Rhett said, barely audible. "Bleeding. Wounded. Mortal."
She looked at him then, not as the Alpha of Hollowfang or the heir to a bloodstained throne, but as the boy she once sparred with in moonlit courtyards, who used to tie feathers in her hair and dare her to leap from treetops.
"You forget," she said softly, "I bleed so others don’t have to."
Rhett’s throat bobbed. He dipped the cloth into the herbal basin again, then pressed it carefully to her skin. She hissed, and his gaze flicked to hers.
"Let in, Magnolia. Just for a mont."
"You’re already in," she whispered, the confession slipping out before she could silence it.
His wolf stirred behind his eyes. She felt it, like the brush of fur against her own spirit, a whisper of wildness that tangled with hers. Her breath hitched.
He leaned closer, the scent of pine and storm thick on him. "Magnolia... what are we becoming?"
She didn’t answer. Instead, she reached up, fingers brushing his jaw, tracing the scar beneath his ear he never spoke of. Their bond wasn’t forged in tenderness. It was born in battle, hardened through fire. But now, in this fragile stillness, it pulsed.
"Whatever we are," she murmured, "it’s dangerous."
Rhett tilted his head into her touch. "Then we face it. Together."
Her lips parted, words trembling at the edge, but a howl from outside shattered the mont. They both jerked upright.
Rhett was on his feet in a blink, eyes glowing. Magnolia swung her legs off the healer’s table.
"Stay," he commanded.
"Don’t."
They locked eyes.
Then both ran, toward the rising threat that didn’t wait for wounds to heal or feelings to settle.
And the fire sputtered behind them, left to rember what might’ve been.
Reviews
All reviews (0)